


stays the same

by JoRaskoph



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, First Person Narrative, Frankie05 & AngelEyez3954s Wish It Was Cannon Rare Pair Challenge, Glimpses of a relationship, Growing Old Together, Harry's Point of View, Harry's gay AU, Harry/Neville - Freeform, Harry/Neville from 7th Year to Old Age, Herbology Nerd Neville, Insecure Harry, M/M, Neville through Harry's eyes, Neville's gay AU, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Present Tense, Slash, bitter harry, forgetful Neville, relationships change, war changes people, what changes and what stays the same?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6685021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoRaskoph/pseuds/JoRaskoph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Through fear and uncertainty, my sleepless eyes are fixed on a tiny black dot on a piece of parchment, anchoring me to a hope that will exist even if I fail and a maybe-future waiting for me if I don’t.</p><p>I try to imagine what your days are like now, but I can’t. In times like these there is no way of knowing what has changed and what stays the same."</p><p> </p><p>When war and death turn a person upside down, relationships change.<br/>— written for the "wish it was canon rare pair challenge"</p>
            </blockquote>





	stays the same

 

 

My chin itches and I rub at it, only half aware what I’m doing while my head is swirling with worry. What if I fail? A wrong decision in the blink of an eye, a moment’s deliberation too much and my actions will doom a whole nation. I can’t fail this world that has become my home…  
  
The questions in my head are shouting over each other, their combined echo so loud my mind has gone deaf.  
  
Through fear and uncertainty, my sleepless eyes are fixed on a tiny black dot on a piece of parchment, anchoring me to a hope that will exist even if I fail and a maybe-future waiting for me if I don’t.  
  
I try to imagine what your days are like now, but I can’t. In times like these there is no way of knowing what has changed and what stays the same.  
  
   


 

*

  
   


   
  
The end comes fast and it leaves me a different person.   
  
When the horror is done and everything is over, my eyes meet yours over rubble and ashes. Blue boring into green like so many times before, but not the same, and I realise the change I feared is in me, not you.  
  
Your closeness that I’ve longed for so often feels constricting now that it is suddenly within reach.   
  
Your face I held, lines I stroked, smell I loved are still there, but the small distance stretches to light years when I can’t get up the energy to bridge it. My heart has shrunk in on itself and cramped shut to let me do what had to be done. I’ve got nothing left to pick up where we hoped we would.   
  
The pain is doubled when I see it mirrored in you as I shake my head and turn away.  
  
   


 

*

  
  
  
Hermione is telling me off for fiddling with the collar of my dress robes and I am about to tell her that it’s too tight, but then I hear your voice and just stop. I want so badly to turn around and look at you, catalogue all of the tiny changes that will doubtlessly be there. At the same time, I’m scared of what I might find, so I stubbornly stare ahead, tense my muscles and don’t do anything at all.  
  
„Neville!“ our friends greet you enthusiastically and free a chair for you to sit. Maybe it’d be easier if we’d told them. I’ve thought about it, but it seems pointless now, when there is no us anymore. And I don’t think you’d want me to share your secret, even though you were urging me to back then.  
  
So I haven’t said anything.  
  
I grit my teeth and clench my fists and manage to sit still through all of the speeches, until we have to get up to receive our Orders of Merlin. On the stage, we end up next to each other, and when applause thunders through the Great Hall, I’ve never felt more miserable.  
  
   


 

*

  
  
  
When I wake up the sheets are clammy against my skin; twisted around me like a devil’s snare. If I think about it, it’ll probably start all over again so I lie still and try to empty my mind. My laboured breaths sound loudly in the dark and I listen to them while I wait for my heartbeat to finally slow down.  
  
The night air carries the distant smell of flowers and you’d know all the names to the scents.  
  
I’ve been staying our of your way for most of the last years—I should finally be getting over you—but bits and pieces of information always find their way to me. Sometimes it’s your face in the papers, sometimes your name that’s casually dropped in a conversation.  
  
I hear you are doing well, unlike me.  
  
You’ve never had to be a killer and sometimes I hate how easy it is for you. Sometimes I hate that it was me when it could have been you. You can just walk off and get on with your live, going to university, making acquaintances.  
  
   


 

*

  
  
  
  
  
When they worry about you, it’s hard to comprehend at first. Of course, I have been worrying about you for so long it feels natural, but for years I have been the only one. They say you have lost weight, and claim you've been neglecting your studies.  
  
I have to go and look for you then—the decision is instantaneous, as if it’d been my plan all along.  
  
Your mouth forms a surprised O when you find me on your doorstep and I am reminded of another time when we were facing each other just like this. You look exactly like you did after you had so shyly brushed your lips against mine. You were unable to believe your own boldness, but I’d always known you were a Gryffindor for a reason; and a mistletoe is a mistletoe, after all.  
  
I look at you now and the changes are obvious. You were rounder then and your eyes were full of hope. “What happened?“ I want to ask. “What changed you?“  
  
_You happened; the war happened._ That’s what the lines on your forehead and the downward-tilt of your mouth say. I know I can’t ask. Just like I wouldn’t want you to. Instead, I motion with my hands as if to say ”Will you’ll let me in?” and your answering nod is accompanied by the faintest of smiles.  
  
“Do you want some tea?“  
  
   


 

*

  
  
  
  
“I can’t believe it’s actually happening!“ your quivering voice stands in stark contrast to your dress robes, and the fact that you are a grown man. You look honestly worried, as if you’re expecting someone to take this away from you at the last minute.  
  
“You better should, mate, I’m pretty sure it’s happening right now.“ Laughing, I nudge you in the direction of the stage. “Go on, get up there!“  
  
The almost-friendship we’ve settled into is hard to explain. Our friends say, “He’s finally going out more,” but they don’t notice it’s only you I visit. You say, “Good to see you,” or at least that is what you tell me. For me, it is a constant limbo, a struggle between not wanting to get your hopes up and needing to be the focus of your attention. It is selfish, and I soothe my bad conscience with assurances that you are happy when I am around.  
  
Whatever it is, I am here now, witnessing your graduation, and that has to be something at least.  
  
You shine with pride as the dean proclaims your mastery of Herbology. You and your classmates toss your hats into the air, and within seconds, your grandma is hugging you. When you turn and shoot a grin my way I feel alive.  
  
It is ridiculously late for that now, but I know I can never turn away from you again.  
  
   


 

*

  
  
  
  
We are not as old as I feel, and in the bodies of twenty-somethings, mutual physical attraction, which has always been there between us, will not be ignored for too long.  
  
When you touch me—or is it me touching you?—we ignore the hippogriff in the room like we wouldn’t have when we were young. Just like the homophobic jerks we never were, we avoid eye contact while we bring each other release and afterwards, we act as if this is something all good friends do to each other.  
  
Strange how war changes people … Back then we were desperate to assert our feelings were pure and genuine. Now we won’t admit to having feelings at all. Perhaps we were careless then. But perhaps we have turned into cowards without noticing.  
  
When you pull my bedroom door closed behind you, I can’t help wishing this was a different place, a different world where our lives had never been tainted by death. Maybe we could handle this more bravely then.  
  
   


 

*

  
  
  
   
  
Your warm breath brushes my cheek when you reach past me for the cereal, the closeness no longer uncomfortable as it used to be. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment we stopped being afraid but now that romance has rekindled, nothing is as it used to be.  
  
The bewilderment I still feel must show in my face as you give me an amused smile and take my hand in yours.  
  
The looks we shoot each other are so much like ones we exchanged what feels like ages ago. Only back then we were hiding our feelings from people outside—now we are not hiding anymore; I think we are both weary of wasting any more time than we already have. With this new understanding everything feels changed.  
  
If I felt as happy then as I do now, I can’t believe that anyone could ever have mistaken my love for friendship. You have been at the forefront of my thoughts for the better part of a decade now, but it has never been this effortlessly.  
  
  
   


 

*

  
  
  
  
“What’s that?“  
  
You look up from the the papers you are reading and shoot me a questioning look. “What’s what?“ You smile at me and I want to smile back, but the twisting knot in my stomach doesn’t allow such carefree expressions. Impatiently, I wave my right hand and the paper it’s holding. “This! What is this?!“  
  
You shrug. “It’s Hermione and Ron’s wedding invitation, and I think you know that because it says so right on the front and the lettering is so big I can read it from here…“ There’s a question mark floating after your words.  
  
“Damn right it is and why did they send one to you but not me?“ The knot in my stomach tightens when I have to spell it out like that. Did I do anything… My worries are interrupted when you laugh out loud.  
  
“What? Is it funny now that I wasn’t invited?“ There are tears stinging in my eyes.  
  
At that, you laugh even harder, and I love you, but right now, I think you might be the most evil person in the world. You come over to me and try to pull me in an embrace, but this is not the time, and I bat your hands away. How you think psychological pain and being laughed at calls for a cuddle session is beyond me. You let go of me but plant a quick kiss on my cheek and rest your head on my shoulder.  
  
“But you were. Look!“  
  
You pry the invitation from my hands, open it and it takes me a few seconds to find what you mean. _To Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter..._  
  
I turn to look at you and I think maybe my mouth is hanging open a little. “But we didn’t tell them we are…“  
  
“You’ve practically been living here for six months and you thought Hermione Granger wouldn’t catch on?“  
  
   


 

*

  
  
  
  
The foil rustles under my feet as I step into the greenhouse you have installed in my backyard. The moist air always feels heavy in here and the muted feeling is most welcome after an afternoon at Ginny and Dean’s house. I’ve been looking forward to catching up with two of my oldest friends but now I find that we never really got a chance to talk. “Kids change people,” I sigh.  
  
“The baby-talk again?“ your sympathetic voice asks from the back, where I guess you are, somewhere behind a tall fern-like plant with orange blooms.  
  
“Elizabeth has begun teething, and she loves her cousins, and last week, she said the most adorable fantasy word. I can’t remember what it was, but Ginny told me about six times...“ I wander through the rows of different plants while I recount the information to you. You keep telling me the botanical names but however many I manage to memorise, there are always more the next time I come in here. “Is this orange thingy new?“, I ask, experimentally poking at the bright petals. The plant quivers and I pull my hand back just in time to see the supposed blooms snap with tiny pointy teeth.  
  
“Yes,” your beaming face appears on the other side of the thing, “this wonderful lady is _Wattieza Nova_.“  
  
“Oh, a lady, is it? If I didn’t know from reliable sources that you are more of a men’s man I’d be jealous,” I say, as I carefully sidestep the curious plant to kiss you hello; you murmur agreement into the kiss.  
  
From the corner of my eye I see green leaves reaching towards us and nervously step away again. “She’s quite a snappy one, isn’t she?“  
  
That’s all the encouragement you need to launch into new-plant-mode.  
  
“Just got her today. She’s a _cladoxylopsida_ , they’re extremely rare.“ I don’t know much about plants but the expression on your face suggests that Christmas and all your birthdays combined couldn’t remotely match this in excitingness. “Muggles think they’re extinct, but they’ve been rediscovered just recently in East Asia. Apparently they have managed to interbreed with the local magical flora and it’d be fascinating to research this behaviour in their natural habitat.“  
  
“Why don’t you do that then? We won’t be missing out on anything here … Let’s go research Wattieza Nova!" You don’t answer right away, but your kiss tastes of places to see and discoveries to make. I get a feeling I’ll have to take extra care to remind you there are exciting experiences a wizard can make that have nothing to do with plants. I think I’m looking forward to the challenge  
  
   


 

*

  
  
  
  
Washing up after breakfast I find one of your loafers under your chair and shake my head; unsure if I should laugh or cry. I picture you in your greenhouse, humming and completely oblivious to the fact you are standing on a sock. It’s not as if I haven’t seen you do just that.  
  
Your forgetfulness would worry me if I didn’t know that you’ve been just like this even when we were eleven. You did manage to lose your pet within the first hour after boarding the Hogwarts Express.  
  
Before leaving I write a note to stick on the front door for you:  
_Will be back for Dinner. If you’re missing a shoe, it’s in the shoe box. Love, Harry_  
PS: I’m the guy with the glasses and you find me irresistible.  
  
   


 

*

  
  
  
  
Sometimes, when you fall asleep in my arms, the feeling is still there.  
  
Reality constricts around me and in the dark, I feel the air become elusive. Your warm weight on my chest gets heavier and now it is not just my chest. The pressure is everywhere now; it creeps up on me from all sides. My skin prickles as my body is crushed beneath the soft covers and my heart beats faster.  
  
What little air is left in the room evades me, my ribs unable to open up wide enough, flesh sticking to flesh as my lungs collapse into themselves. Still, my heart is beating ever faster, stumbling to supply my traitorous limbs with oxygen.  
  
All the while I can’t move a muscle and with every fibre of my being screaming _run!_ energy explodes outwards.  
  
You jump from deep sleep at the crashing sound, but I know it is only cramping muscles, damp skin, hammering pulse and thoughts of red mist that make your getting up an eternity. Your sleepy scent drifts into my nose when you leave the room to sleep on the sofa and it is the first of many cold breaths that slowly let the tension seep from my body.  
  
I know you want to help, and you know that only in your absence I can get out of my panic.  
  
We both know that we’ll be okay when I serve you breakfast to the couch tomorrow to make up for your aching back, but I see the grey in your blond hair, the spots in your face, and I regret every night we have to spend apart.  
  
   


 

*

  
  
   
  
We are sitting in the garden, your wheelchair rolled close to the bed of poppies you love so much. The sun is warm on my face, and your hand is in mine, our fingers fitting perfectly after so many years. You have fallen asleep and your snoring provides the soundtrack to my daydreams.  
  
Our Hogwarts years come to mind, such a magical place at the time. Sometimes I feel like I was born there.  
  
You snore and I smile at the idea what eleven year-old-me would have thought of spending the evening of my life with you like this. The question is futile, of course, since you were a different you and I, a different me.  
  
For four years, I shared breakfast with you, slept in the same room with you, and never thought twice about what an exceptionally kind person you are.  
  
Then in fifth year, you were going out with Zacharias Smith and a monster started growling in my chest whenever I saw you together—I thought it was because he was such an arrogant snob. During the DA meetings, I got annoyed when he acted possessive of you and incidentally I was always trying to help with your spells as much as I could.  
  
What an oblivious idiot I was…  
  
I often marvel over the fact that, shy as you were, you got up the determination to corner me after that last Christmas meeting, and I’m ever grateful that you did.  
  
   
  
   


 

the end

  
  
  
   
  
   


* * *

  
  
  
Many thanks to lunarlumos and victoria_anne for beta reading and feedback; to pathfinder, victoria_anne, paulatheprocaryote and Jayna for their help with the title and to toomanycurls for her quick answer to my questions.  
  
**Thank you all so much – without your encouragement I wouldn't be posting this now.**


End file.
